


Reunited

by clairakitty



Series: Sal Fisher Deserved Better (But I'm Not Going to Give it to Him) [3]
Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, I read a lot of VERY graphic depictions of death by electric chair for this so, M/M, Sal is Jaded and Bitter, Spoilers for episode 4, it's a happy-ish ending though, now I'm even MORE sad about The Trial, very mild mentions of homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 18:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairakitty/pseuds/clairakitty
Summary: "See you on the other side," Larry said. What happens when they actually do? I'm bad at summaries but it's Sal and Larry getting to see each other again.





	Reunited

**Author's Note:**

> If you read my first fic and liked it, I deeply apologize for the fact that this one will NOT be as sweet and fluffy. But I really want Sal and Larry to see each other again, okay?

Sal closed his eyes behind his blindfold, breathing as deeply as he could to try and calm the trembling of his hands. _In… and out_ . Three years. Three years he’d had to resign himself to his fate. _It’s fast. A moment of agony, and then I’m gone_. That didn’t relax him much.

 

The screech of a metal lever. The hum of electricity.

 

Pain. More pain than Sal had ever felt in his life, and Sal Fisher had felt a lot of pain in his 25 years of life. Every muscle in his body seized, violently. Then…. nothing. Blackness. Sal opened his eye, looking at the rough material of the blindfold. _Did something…. go wrong?_ That seemed unlikely. He’d learned more about the electric chair in the past years than he’d ever wanted to, and it seemed unlikely that’d he’d survive the first shock, let alone that he’d feel so normal and unpained if he, by some miracle, did. Sal wiggled his fingers, which brought to his attention that his hands were no longer restrained. In fact-

 

Sal stood from the chair, his legs amazingly steady for having just had 2,000 V coursing through his 5’2” frame. He was still for a moment, taking a deep breath before reaching up to remove his blindfold.

 

It wasn’t exactly a surprise to see his own corpse slumped over in the electric chair, blood running from what remained of his nose, eyes, and ears, but a guy is allowed to be a little disturbed by it nonetheless. _Huh_ . He looked down at his hands, the nails ripped as short as possible from the stress of the past few weeks, and then back at the orange-clad body. _So that’s what it feels like_ . A moment later, Sal jumped back as the chair came alive again with a BANG, the body that was his-but-not-really convulsing. _That’s gnarly,_ Sal thought, fascinated despite himself. He’d never actually seen an execution.

 

“SAL!”

 

Sally Face jumped, whipping his head around towards the sound to see his remaining best friend pressed up against the glass, tears streaming down her horrified face. Sal immediately felt a pang of guilt; he knew Ash would have nightmares about this. _What are you doing here?_ He walked closer to the glass. _Oh_ . In her hand, pressed against the glass, was a picture of _…. Was that Larry?_ It sure looked like Larry. The ghost of Larry, more specifically, identical to the last time they’d seen each other. What remained of Sal’s lips twisted into a grimace. _Too late. But the effort is appreciated, Ash._

 

Sal leaned in closer, tilting his head and squinting at the blurry photo. _The tree house. Of course._ He looked at Ash again, wishing he could comfort her somehow. But what would he do? He didn’t exactly have a handle on this ghost thing yet, despite his extensive past experience, and even if he could choose to solidify right this moment, he doubted it would help anything.  Sal took a step back, narrowing his eyes at the heavy glass between the execution chamber– _his_ execution chamber–and the outside world. _Think incorporeal thoughts_ , Sal told himself, took a deep breath, and sprinted at the window.

 

And went right through.

 

Uncalled upon, a wide grin split Sal’s scarred cheeks. _I can leave. I can just_ leave. Ducking his head down for more momentum–do physics work the same on ghosts? Oh, well–Sal ran through the halls. Past the guards, who had watched his every move for years. Past the other inmates, who whispered among themselves, afraid to look his prosthetic in the eyes. He ran directly through the chest of a particularly cruel guard, laughing wildly to himself, and the guard gasped, turning around to look towards death row, hand pressed to his suddenly-cold sternum.

 

In three years, Sally had memorized every turn of purgatory, and before he knew it he was skidding to stop on the asphalt outside the prison, his single eye blinking up at the red, foggy sky. _My first day as a free man in three years, and this is the weather I get_. Nonetheless, he couldn’t restrain his grin. After a brief spin on the balls of his feet, he took off again. He didn't even know where he was running until he was there.

 

The tree house.

 

Sal's burst of happiness dissipated as he looked up at the place where _everything_ had gone wrong. It was as if he were there again: his hair flattened against his head with the rain, dripping down his prosthetic. A wet note in his hand. _Please don’t blame yourself._ . The feeling of his heart stopping and his stomach falling into his feet. _You gotta keep going._ The wet seeping into the knees of his pants as he collapsed.

 

_I love you, Sally Face. Always._

 

In a daze, Sal began to climb. It had been three years, but it was still so familiar. So many days had been spent in this tree house: doing homework, practicing their art, talking, headbanging, kissing. His head popped through the trapdoor, looking around at everything, exactly as he'd left it. Complete with-

 

Sal felt his fingers slip just as Larry turned to look at him, his eyes widening.

 

“Sal-!”

 

Sal fell right back to the ground with a thud, his head smacking the dirt. He waited for pain, but none came–duh. Sal sat up, staring up at his best friend–the man he loved, dead three years–peering out of the tree house. As Sal watched, he shifted to jump down, seeming to float as he landed softly on his feet. Immediately he was crouching beside Sal, his hand wrapped around Sal's bicep, and tears sprung immediately to Sal’s eyes at the first friendly touch he'd felt in years.

 

“Sal?” Larry repeated, reaching out to caress Sal's scarred cheek. _Wait_ … Sal's hand came up to his face, frowning. _My mask._ His hand came away sticky with ghostly blood, and he had to sigh. _Even in death I look like a horror movie_. His eye flicked back to Larry's concerned gaze, clearly worried he'd hit his head or something. Old habits die hard, he supposed. Eyes overflowing, Sal threw his arms around Larry's neck, kissing him as if his life depended on it. Larry was only surprised for a moment before he kissed back, his arms wrapped securely around Sal's waist.

 

After far too short of a time, Sal pulled back, his eyes blazing. Before Larry could even think to protect himself, there were tiny fists pounding on Larry's ghostly chest. “How could you!?” Sal yelled, “How could you do that to me? How could you leave me like that? Do you have any idea how I felt? How scared I was when you didn’t pick up your phone? Your damn _letter_? I- You-” He ran out of steam, clutching at Larry's shirt and pressing his forehead against Larry's sternum. “How could you,” he repeated brokenly, his shoulders hitching.

 

Larry cautiously wrapped his arms around Sal, running his fingers through Sal's loose hair. He always thought Sal looked good with his hair down, but now it just looked greasy and lifeless–hah. He’d never seen Sal’s hair any less than flawless, and it was a bit of a shock. “I had to,” he said quietly, tightening his grip as Sal tried to pull away angrily. “I did! Who do you think was in the background, helping you get past everything the cult left?”

 

Sal managed to get away, looking up at him with an expression of anger and despair and grief and absolute, utter _hurt_ . “And where were you when I had to slaughter _everybody_ ? My dad, your mom? Chug? _Soda_ ? Where were you then, Larry?” He crossed his arms across his chest tightly, as if holding himself together. “Where were you when I was on trial? When they found me guilty? Oh, yeah, you were _here_.”

 

Larry was silent. Sal had never been so… bitter. So angry. He looked at Sal's weary face, the frown lines, the hunched shoulders, and felt his heart lurch. “How… long has it been, Sal?”

 

Sal scowled–a horrible look on Larry's ray of sunshine–and clenched his fists. “Three years. I _rotted_ in that hellhole for _three years_. And do you think they respected me there? The baby killer? The five-foot-two faggot who killed everyone who ever cared about him? I was lucky if they ignored me.” His voice was huskier than Larry remembered, and he didn't know if it was time or emotion that caused it. “All I had to look forward to was my own execution.”

 

Larry just looked at Sal, heart hurting as he imagined it all. _His_ Sally Face, bullied. Hated. Alone. Only this time, Larry and Ashley weren't there to protect him. “I'm-”

 

“Don't say you're sorry, Lar,” Sal interrupted, but he wasn't angry. Just tired. Larry complied, his hands in his lap. Unsure what to do, but knowing he wouldn't leave him. Never again.

 

Sal took a deep, shuddering breath, pulling himself together. Something he'd gotten much better at over the past few years. The Sally Face Killer crying in his room was only seen as a target. His face neutral, Sal got to his feet, watching as Larry did the same. “So, Larry Face. Are you going to show me how this ghost thing works?”

 

Relieved, though skeptical, Larry nodded. “It’s not that complicated really. Like, you’re as heavy as you think you are, y’know?” Larry got to his feet  and then dropped back to the ground, this time landing heavily. “It’s like… mind over matter, right? Because we don’t have any matter anymore.” Sal laughed shortly, more of a bark than a laugh, and Larry didn’t know how to feel. His Sally had never been so cold, so hard. Now that he had time to look, to take him in, he hardly recognized the man in front of him. His limp hair, the frown lines. The way he held himself as if waiting for a punch, as if ready to throw one back. As if his spirit had been completely broken and trampled. Larry grabbed Sal’s hand pulling him to the treehouse. “C’mon, loser.”

 

They climbed to the roof, Larry going first to help despite knowing that nothing could hurt Sal anymore. Larry pulled Sal against his chest, and Sal stiffened, but still went along, laying his head in the crook of Larry's neck. They both looked up at the stars, as they did when they were kids. Larry almost laughed; he hadn't imagined they'd ever be in this position again, especially not like this. Sal in a dirty prison uniform, ghostly blood forever oozing from his orifices, his mask-

 

“Where's your prosthetic, Sal?” he spoke up, his fingers trailing across Sal's collapsed jaw. He certainly wasn't upset about it–if he had to see anything for eternity, looking at Sal's face was at the top of his list–but he knew Sal wouldn't willingly leave it behind. Even around Larry, there were times he wanted it on.

 

Sal frowned, turning into Larry's chest. “They had to take it off. For the electric chair.” Larry could hardly hide his jerk of surprise, and anger. _Electric chair? They_ electrocuted _my Sal?_ “If I'd known I'd be stuck like this forever, maybe I would've fought harder. Or at least taken a shower,” he remarked wryly. “At least I could take off the blindfold after I died.” Larry squeezed Sal tighter at that. _Blindfold_. He didn't want to think about Sal, dwarfed by an electric chair, blindfolded and exposed and terrified, but he was thinking about it anyways. If only he'd known. Why didn't Ash tell him? He could have-

 

“Larry?” Sal interrupted his thoughts, sounding concerned, and Larry snapped back to reality, stroking Sal's hair soothingly (as much for himself as for Sal).

 

“I'm here. I'm just…” He sighed. “I don't know, dude. I'm so… mad. At myself. At everyone who hurt you, purposefully or not. I wish I'd been there to protect you.”

 

Unexpectedly, Sal snorted derisively. “How? By scaring everyone who came to beat me up? ‘Boo! I'm the mass murderer's dead boyfriend!’ I'm sure that would help.” He shook his head, closing his eyes as he relaxed into Larry's arms. “It's the past.”

 

Larry frowned. “By, like, a couple hours.”

 

Sal just rolled his eye beneath his eyelid. “Shut up, Larry Face. Just let me enjoy this.” Larry was still annoyed, but did what Sal asked. How could he deny him? He'd never been able to say no to Sal Fisher; from the day they’d met, Larry had been wrapped around his pinkie finger.

 

How long had they laid there? Minutes? Hours? Days? Sal began to understand how Larry had been so surprised to learn how long it had been. The sky was dark, full of stars, and Sal cheeks hurt from smiling. “It's been so long since I've seen anything this beautiful.”

 

Larry, who hadn't taken his eyes from Sal's face, nodded. “Me, too.”

 

Sal frowned in confusion and turned to look at Larry, and when he realized what he meant his cheeks went a strange teal. It looked good on him. Sal shoved Larry playfully, pulling his hair in front of his face. “You're such a liar, Larry Face. Even for me, I look like shit.”

 

Larry emphatically shook his head, pulling Sal's hands away from his face to look him in the eye. “I've never seen a more beautiful sight than turning around in the tree house to see your face popping up through the floor. You have no idea how much I've missed you, Sal.” He paused. “I mean, you HAVE looked better,” he teased, and Sal shot him a grin, pushing Larry onto his back so that Sal could straddle his hips.

 

“Take it back,” he threatened, and when Larry shook his head he crossed his arms in response. “I'm three years older, you know! And I spent those years, you know, in a high security prison? For mass murder? I think I'm allowed a few wrinkles.”

 

Larry shrugged, putting his hands behind his head. “Excuses, excuses.” Looking down at Larry, with his carefree, gap-toothed grin, Sal was overcome by the urge to kiss him–so he did. He leaned forward onto his elbows, kissing like he was going to disappear.

 

And then he did. Sal's knees hit the roof, and he watched incredulously as Larry's grinning face phased through. “Oh, you bastard,” Sal growled, closing his eyes. _Incorporeal thoughts, incorporeal thoughts…_ Sal opened his eyes at Larry's yelp as he floated onto the floor, crossing his arms pissily. “Didn't think I knew how to do that, did you?”

 

Larry recovered from his (proud) surprise and shrugged. “I always knew you were a fast learner.”

 

With a scoff, Sal pounced, pushing Larry to sit on the chest in the corner and climbing into his lap to kiss him again. This time, Larry kissed back, pulling Sal as close as he could. “You know,” he said casually as he pulled back, “I haven't been able to touch another person since I died. It gets lonely.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn't have died then,” Sal retorted, pulling his prison shirt over his head in the delay. Beneath it was a white wifebeater, and Larry was lovestruck. His eyes widened, his fingers tracing Sal's shoulders and arms.

 

“Fuck, dude, you got ripped.”

 

Sal snorted. “I was hoping to get as big as you. Maybe people would leave me alone then.” He flushed and closed his eyes as Larry leaned in to kiss the scars on Sal's collarbone, trailing kisses across to his deltoid. Sal hummed contently, like the purr of a cat, and Larry almost cried at how much he’d missed that sound. He pressed a kiss to the junction of neck and jaw, noting his missing piercings. Metal, of course. He’d miss those in the perpetuity of their undeath.

 

“Well, at least you’ll be buff for all eternity,” Larry teased, and Sal pulled his head away to press their lips together once again. They sat there for ages, kissing and touching. Larry kissed every one of Sal’s scars, while Sal’s fingers lingered on Larry’s chest, down his sides, along the shell of his ear. So distracted were they that they didn’t even notice anyone approaching, until they heard her.

 

“Larry, I was too late!” Ashley clambered into the treehouse, looking around for her ghostly friend. Her whole face was red, her eyes bloodshot. It had been a VERY bad day for Ashley Campbell. “Larry, please come back!”

 

“Ash!” Sal exclaimed, and Ashley screamed as the friend she had just watched die a horrible death oozed up from the floorboard. Larry quickly followed, and Ash’s eyes almost bulged out of her head.

 

“S-Sal?” she whispered, her voice cracking. The memory of Sal convulsing in the electric chair contrasted with what was in front of her eyes. Sal quickly got to his feet, and Ash fell into his arms.

 

Well, tried to. Actually, she just fell to her knees, both of them shuddering as they passed through each other. Ashley’s eyes filled with fresh tears as she looked back at Sal. Could they never hug again. Sal frowned, holding out a hand. “Wait, give me one second.” After a few moments of thinking _corporeal_ thoughts this time, he reached out and gingerly placed his hand on Ashley’s shoulder. His solid hand. With a sob, Ashley launched towards him again, holding him in a hug that would probably hurt if he still had nerves.

 

“I watched you die,” she bawled, tears running into Sal’s hair. “The way you just- It was like you were having a seizure and then- and then _nothing_.” Sal twitched, distinctly remembering what that “seizure and then nothing” felt like.

 

“I would rather have my face ripped off again,” he muttered dryly, “Only slower. Maybe with more teeth.”

 

“Oh, Sal,” Ash whimpered, “You didn’t deserve that. I’m so sorry; I should’ve believed you.”

 

Sal just shrugged, rubbing her back. “You never believed all the ghost stuff, anyways. I just appreciated you didn’t think I was an evil murderer.”

 

“Nobody did, Sal. Not anyone who knew you. Not even Maple, even though-” she broke off mid-sentence, clenching her jaw. “Not even Maple.” Sal’s throat was choked up at that, and all he could do was nod. Maple, whose husband and toddler daughter he’d stabbed to death, didn’t believe the press. Didn’t believe he’d slaughtered her whole family in cold blood. He pulled back, clearing his throat.

 

“Well, it’s done now.” Sal shrugged, allowing his hair to shield much of his face. “But I’ll be… here. Forever, maybe?” He looked at Ashley’s tearstained face and felt his face soften. “I’m dead, Ash, but I’m not gone. You’ll be able to see me more now than you ever could when I was locked up, right?”

 

She nodded slightly, rubbing at her eyes as she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Yeah, I guess so. I’m sorry I didn’t see you more, Sal, they just-”

 

Sal grimaced. “Trust me, I know. They weren’t subtle about the fact they kept people from seeing me. Though I actually appreciated when they kept those weird horny-for-murderers people away.” He shuddered, as did Ash. “The guards seemed to think I was disappointed by that.”

 

“They clearly know nothing about you, then,” Larry spoke up, expression disgusted. He came to sit down next to Sal, wrapping his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. Ashley smiled.

 

“Well, they saw what they wanted to see.”

 

They all knew that they’d have to talk about everything soon. The cult, Todd, Red Eyes. But right now, after so much suffering, Sal was content to curl against his boyfriend’s chest and relax, and when Larry and Ashley made eye contact over his head, they knew to save it for another time.

 

“Do you want me to turn on some music?” Ash asked brightly, already standing. “I bet you haven’t heard Sanity Falls’ new album.”

 

"Sanity's Fall," Larry and Sal both corrected, perfectly in sync, before Sal’s eye widened. “They’re still together? They told me they broke up!” He bounced a little where he sat as he waited for Ash to put in the CD, seeming more like the Sal they all knew and loved than he had since he got back. They spent the next hour listening to the full album, talking sparsely. When Ash left, she gave Sal a hug (much to Larry’s chagrin: _You have to show me how you did that, man. I’ve never been able to get that corporeal_ ) and promised she’d be back tomorrow. And though they were sad to see her go, they were glad to have some time alone again. To talk, and to cry, and to reacquaint themselves with each other’s bodies: so familiar to Sal, and so different from what Larry remembered. He spent the night kissing every scar, new and old, and vowing he’d never let Sal out of his sight again.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: I'm an idiot that got the name of the band wrong.


End file.
